“Riding next to him through the rapidly changing neighborhoods of the East Village and the Lower East Side, she compared the comfort she felt with him to the fuzzy rush she got from that Chase guy. She knew there was something wrong with that man, something below the surface … but what a fine-looking surface it was. ‘Son of a bitch!’ Hobbs swore as a motorcycle zipped past on his right, just as he was about to take the turn south on Avenue A. ‘Guy’s going to get himself killed.’ ‘One man’s death... is another’s kidney donation,’ she said, coming back to the task at hand – find Jerod. ‘That’s dark,’ Hobbs said. ‘Hey, in medical school we called them donor cycles, especially for those brilliant souls who don’t wear helmets.’ She snuck a glance at Hobbs, intent on the craziness of New York City driving. ‘You think there’s any chance we’ll find him?’ ‘No clue, but one thing about junkies is first and foremost they need their fix. He’ll go to where he thinks he can find it.’ ‘Even if that could kill him,’ she said.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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